


Falling's Just Like Flying

by knittyknicker



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Drugging, Kidnapping, M/M, Mind Games, Rape/Non-con References, theresabitofcrossover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-20
Updated: 2012-06-20
Packaged: 2017-11-08 04:02:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knittyknicker/pseuds/knittyknicker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things happen as part of a grand plan and some things just happen. </p><p>At this point, Steve isn't sure which is worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Falling's Just Like Flying

**Author's Note:**

> There are some crossover-y elements, but marking it gives too much away. If you want to know before reading, shoot me a message and I'll let you know. OR skip to the notes at the end for the reveal, but half the fun's in the guessing and there aren't any real spoilers for the other fandom. Either way, enjoy!

The chains that bind him against the walls feel hokey, making Steve think of some of the pulp novels he used to read, full of knights and dungeons, but no matter how he tugs, he can’t pull them loose. Alright, he thinks,obviously not an amateur. 

His wrists are locked in cuffs against the wall, keeping him in a modified crucifix position with his hands at 4 and 8 o’clock. The gag is less comfortable and he’s been wearing it long enough that the edges of the bit have rubbed his cheeks raw, shifting every time his tongue moves. His legs are free, which Steve is grateful for, but he’s been standing in the same spot for hours thanks to the wide metal band around his throat and his calves are getting sore. 

To take his mind off the irritations of his bindings, he scans the room, taking in four blank walls, a ceiling with a single round vent and two recessed lights, and a floor that slopes toward a drain. No furniture, no obvious surveillance, nothing but a single metal door with no knob. 

As he waits, he shakes his legs out, trying to keep his muscles from cramping as he waits. He thinks it’s been less than a day, but he can’t be sure since the room lacks any source of outside lighting and he’s fairly sure they took his watch although the wide cuffs would have blocked it either way. 

As he runs the timeline in his mind- grocery run, dizzy spell, unconscious, here- and he realizes just how helpful his recall is, the door opens and a man walks in. Steve sizes up the new variable; short maybe just a hair shorter than Tony, with a slim build, neatly trimmed dark hair, no noticeable scars or other visible physical ailments, and an arrogant look on a remarkably ordinary face. 

When he speaks his voice has just a hint of Irish under the bland Midwestern accent and Steve is thrown by the contrast.

“Captain America, hm? Very nice to meet you. I’ve already had the pleasure of getting to know your fiancé.”

Steve feels the blood drain from his face, conscious of the way his entire body is drawing itself taut. 

“Ah, now you recognize me. You know, they said you were extraordinary, but I have been let down by others who claimed that mantel. I’m pleased to see you might be deserving of it.” The other man smiled as he continues, “Oh yes... I fucked your precious Anthony.”

This man, this unassuming man in front of him was responsible for taking Tony. His Tony, gone, snatched from a sidewalk and missing for nearly a week before he was returned, black and blue, to SHIELD headquarters. His Tony, who still flinched away from anyone’s touch, who slept only when his body sucumbed to exhaustion, who wouldn’t eat anything he hadn’t made himself, who wouldn’t even touch a cup of coffee any more. This man was responsible for all of it. 

For the first time, Steve truly fights his restraints, pulling against the cuffs and collar hard enough to make the metal groan, but even then he still isn’t able to break free.He keeps struggling, vision narrowed to the man in front of him until he becomes aware of liquid sliding down his jaw and soaking into the neck of his uniform. 

Steve glances at his arms and sees blood creeping over the backs of his hands and assumes the liquid at his throat is the same, subsiding in his struggles to allow the serum to stop the bleeding. The man in front of him stands, hip cocked and arms folded, still smiling that indulgent smile as he waits for Steve to settle. Steve has never wanted to tear a look from someone’s face more than he does at that moment. 

“Did he tell you about our time together? Did he share all things we did? Come now, don’t be bashful, speak up.” his smirk grows and Steve growls, low in his throat. 

“Ah, right, never mind. Shall I tell you why I took him? You look as though you’re curious.”

He’s really, really not. In fact, he’s never wanted to hear something less. If Tony wanted to talk about it, he’d certainly listen, but from this man it feels too much like bragging and Steve has to swallow down the bile that creeps up his throat, fearful of vomiting with the gag obstructing his mouth. 

“The reason I chose him and not one of the other multitudes of rude, useless, noisy, arrogant creatures that infest this city is simple; I took him because I could.”

The words fall into the silence of the room like pebbles in a pond, each one pushing the ripples caused by the one before it higher and higher until Steve feels as though he might drown. 

Such a stupid thing, truly a case of wrong place, wrong time and Steve lets out a sound like he’s been stabbed. 

“Yes, no greater motive, no master plan, no elaborate series of plots leading to his ultimate downfall. I’ve done that and it was boring. Boring and ordinary. This, however, the simple chaos and violence of it? Beautiful.”

The man, and he still hasn’t introduced himself, paces in front of him, staying outside of the range of Steve’s legs as he continues to speak. 

“Watching him fall apart as I took him dry, the sounds that poured from his throat. So high, so pain-filled, so delicious. Watching his face when the others made use of him was wonderful; Like a precious, immaculate work of art.” 

He stops, spinning to face Steve, “Tell me Captain, does he ever cry for you? He cried for me. He does suffer so beautifully. ” The man’s face goes soft and Steve is sure that whatever he hears next won’t be pleasant.

“Did you enjoy him after I returned him to you? I worked hard to leave a lasting impression on him. I hope you appreciate the things I taught him.” His voice is pleasant, but the words are oily and Steve wants to bathe for the rest of his life in an attempt to wash away the taint of this man’s madness.

“I wonder if he’d come back. If we offered to trade you for him, do you think your superiors would accept? I would so love to have him under me again. After the first few time, he was so hungry for it, his body open and stretched, just waiting for the next person to use him like he deserved. He was such a good little whore. ”

Steve hates that word, hates the way it echoes against the bare walls, bouncing from surface to surface, building in intensity and striking him like a slap. Steve grunts, baring his teeth at the man in lieu of any verbal response. If only he’d come closer. 

“I have to admit, I took no small delight in exploring him. That spot, just here,” and he gestures to the dip above his clavicle, “provoked some amazing noises.” Steve knows that spot, has kissed that spot more times than he can remember. Now he can only think of this man making Tony feel and he wants nothing so much as to completely render this man into his component parts. 

Carefully shaping the sounds, Steve speaks, though the words are slurred through the leather of the gag.

“Tut, tut, Captain, such uncouth language from a hero such as yourself? What would the children say?”

Steve thinks that given the circumstances, they’d probably agree with Steve’s sentiment, if not the exact words. 

“Hm. Well, I see that you fail to appreciate my actions, so I suppose I’ll take my leave of you now.” The man steps forward and Steve tenses. One more step and he’ll be close enough. He stops just outside Steve’s reach and lowers his voice, “Do give dear Anthony all my very, very best,” and purses his lips, blowing a kiss at Steve. 

The man turns to leave the room pausing to allow the door to open in front of him. As he passes through, he turns his face back to where Steve stands locked in place. “Goodbye, my dear Captain.” 

Once the door has slipped shut once more, the sound of hissing is apparent and Steve looks up to the ceiling where yellowish vapor is pouring from the single vent. He holds his breath for long minutes but is finally forced to breath, sucking in a lungful of whatever is filling the room. The vapor burns like fire and as his vision begins to ripple and swim, Steve just prays that it isn’t Tony who discovers his body.

~~~

When he comes to, Clint is crouched over him gently working the gag from between his teeth. 

“What the fuck, man? You disappeared completely, no tracker signal, no comm, nothing, just poof, gone. Tony hit the roof, Fury ordered him sedated to keep him from running off to find you, everyone down at SHIELD went batshit trying to figure it out, and then you just popped back on radar again after 36 hours. What. The. Actual. Fuck?”

Steve takes Clint’s babble in quickly before husking out a single word. “Tony?”

“He’s fine. Pepper and Bruce are with him, and I think Phil might have tazed Fury over the forced sedation issue. Dunno. I saw you pop up and bolted. Natasha is keeping the engines warm.”

Steve feels like his cheeks might crack, but he asks, “Where?”

“Abandoned warehouse in LA. I know, not even clever. By the time we got here it was totally deserted. If it weren’t for your signal, I’d have missed it.”

“No one?”

“Nope, just this.” Clint offers Steve a slip of paper before taking his wrist and pulling him upright once more. Steve moves, glad to be free, and they make it to the door and out into the too bright sunlight. It isn’t until they’re on the road to the airport that Steve remembers the note Clint slipped him earlier. With stiff fingers,he unfolds the paper, reading the single, hastily scrawled sentence.

_“In the world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king.”_

**Author's Note:**

> So I cast Moriarty as the villain. I dunno, it worked in my head. 
> 
> Title and wording of the note borrowed from Sherlock.


End file.
